Scarlet and Grey: Andrea's Story
by RachelJLewis
Summary: A one chapter addition to 'Light and Shade': Andrea Parker has had a long day. Her boyfriend Luke Sawyer is in an ICU in London, she's tired and emotional and for reasons best known to herself she's just told Mr Grey that she's spent six years being in love with him. Today can't possibly get any worse. And then her waters break...


**Author's Note:**

_This is a one chapter addition to 'Light and Shade' (ID 9409269) told from Andrea's point of view and it slots between chapters 7 and 8._

* * *

**SCARLET AND GREY  
**

I am in London and looking out of the window at a view down the River Thames. It is coming up to one o'clock in the morning and this is turning out to be the most surreal night of my life. I have always wanted to come to this city and ideally, right now, I'd be in my lavish central London hotel suite, all post-coital with Luke, settling down to sleep against his body, which is hewn from the stone of El Capitan itself. My man is glorious; my man can make love, which is how I ended up thirty five weeks' pregnant in the first place.

My hair is still a little damp from the shower which means it'll be all sexily mussed in the morning and even thought he can't see it right now, it's how Luke prefers it. He knows precisely which clip to remove to bring my Monday to Friday up-do cascading down around my shoulders in an instant. He told me that when he first saw me, that I reminded him of an ultra-glossy, blonde Miss Moneypenny, as I sat in splendid isolation behind my vast sandstone desk outside Mr Grey's office. It's odd that he viewed me as that particularly famous Personal Assistant, because when I first set eyes on Luke Sawyer, I thought that James Bond had stepped out of the elevator.

Mr and Mrs Grey were attending a dinner in the city that evening and Mrs Grey, Ana, had arrived in advance of that to get ready. She always gets her outfit sent to Mr Grey's office, because he has a private bathroom that she can get changed in. Her own offices were designed back in the days when it never occurred to architects to put in such a decadent, but extremely useful feature. That's the practical explanation for it, but I think something else goes on in there before she actually gets around to putting her dress on. And who can blame her, she's married to Mr Grey. I know this feeling. The times when you're so desperate for one other that it's two solid hours before you get around to asking 'how was Thursday?'

Ana was usually alone or accompanied up in the elevator by Taylor; but he was on a rare vacation that week, so Sawyer was driving. I'd heard his name frequently mentioned, had spoken to him on several occasions, but it was some time before we actually met.

At Grey House, the headquarters of GEH, we have an unusual state of affairs; in that most women who work here hold down two relationships. The first is their real-life relationship. The second is the love-affair we all have with Mr Grey, our CEO, which exists only in our heads. My work for Mr Grey did not enable me to successfully sustain a real-life relationship because I was essentially married to the job. So my imagined one with him - terminally holed below the waterline when he married the lovely Anastasia Steele (and she is) - had been my main sexual sustenance for most of the last three and a half years. The sex, like the relationship, was entirely in my head – a total headfuck if you will.

I had been resigned to this state of affairs for quite some time when Cassie paged me that evening from the main desk to tell me that Mrs Grey was on her way up. I carried on with my work until the moment the elevator doors slid open. Out swept Ana all smiles and _'hello Andrea, how are you?'_ Or at least I think that's what she said. I wasn't really listening, because at that moment Daniel Craig followed her out of the elevator. Ana went straight into Mr Grey's office, whilst Daniel Craig, or Luke Sawyer as he's called when he's in Seattle, sat down on one of the seats adjacent to my desk.

Mr Grey may look divine, but the one tiny flaw that I fear, is that his impeccable manners extend into the bedroom. I'm not a woman who likes her sex with a side order of please and thank you. I like it rough and exciting and those very qualities were now sitting about eight feet away from me. It takes a lot to eclipse Mr Grey but in that instant Luke Sawyer had managed it. He had soft blonde hair, baby blue eyes and was composed of six feet four inches of pure unadulterated muscle. Even just glancing at him from under my eyelashes was making me burn up and I was close to triggering the fire alarm sprinkler system.

"Mr Sawyer, may I get you some coffee?" I asked, as unfailingly polite as always. Miss Moneypenny is a rookie PA compared to me.

He looked at me and in that moment I hoped desperately that he liked what he saw.

"I don't drink coffee at this hour." He replied.

"I have decaf if you prefer?"

"Thank you Miss Parker, but no." Mr Grey's impeccable manners rub off on all his staff.

"Tea?"

"No ma'am." _Ma'am! How old am I, fifty?_

"Hot Chocolate?"

"No, thank you."

"I've run out of beverage options now." I babbled, I do that when I'm nervous and I was rewarded with a small smile in return. _Yes!_

"Do you have some water?" _Water? Duh, obvious. Yes, holy fuck hose me down!_

"Sure. I'll get you a glass."

I hurried off, returning with a long, cool, glass of iced water for Mr Sex-on-Legs, which at that moment I wanted to throw all over myself to quench the fire within.

It took us five weeks of dancing around one another; but finally, one Friday evening when Mr and Mrs Grey had gone to Aspen for the weekend, Luke stopped by Grey House as I was leaving and we went out for a drink. And then we went back to my apartment, got into bed and didn't get out of it until Monday morning. When you work for Mr Grey you have to make the most of the time he's not around; so when the cat's away the mice have to fuck like rabbits. That was two and a half years ago.

As I say, ideally I'd be lying in bed with Luke. We are in bed, just different ones. He's down in ICU on the second floor and I'm in a private room up on the twelfth. More than anything I wish that Luke were here with me now, because we've talked about this moment for so long. But life is what happens when you've made other plans and our combined _'holy fuck we're parents'_ moment will have to wait.

Our daughter, Emma, is sleeping. She's swaddled in a white blanket, in a clear, Perspex crib next to my bed and I'm getting my head around being a Mommy. Of course she's beautiful, the most precious thing ever and I am completely and utterly in love with her. She's five weeks' premature. The Doctor who checked me over when I arrived at St Thomas's Hospital, said that the early and very quick delivery was most likely brought on by the overwhelming stress that I've been under, since 5.36am on Thursday morning in Seattle, when the ringing of my phone woke me up and the bottom fell out of my life. It's just coming up to 1.00am on Saturday morning in London and my brain is too fried to do the math to work out how many hours that is, but it's a lot. And it's irrelevant now anyway. Luke is doing fine and Emma is small but doing just fine too. Me? I'm in pieces, but in the silence of this room just a couple of doors down from Mrs Grey, I can start to put myself back together again.

But I will never be completely whole again because I am missing my dignity. That is irrevocably lost; scattered over the back seat of Mr Grey's car where some of it fell out of my mouth, and on the bed in my hotel suite, where the rest of it came out with Emma or possibly came off with my panties, who knows. The jury's still out on which bit I can't bear to think about the most. I'm trying to block it out because I am mortified beyond belief. Actually, look up the word 'mortified' in any dictionary and you'll see a picture of me there forever. Andrea Mary Parker, age 30. Until approximately 11.15pm on May 10th, 2015, I was Personal Assistant to Mr Christian Grey of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc of Seattle, WA. Six years' service for him and I ruin it in less than an hour. The good opinion of Mr Grey is hard to win and I thought I had it. Now it's probably soaking into the Axminster carpet in the corridor of the hotel. I have been off the scale of undignified this evening and put him through similar loss of dignity. God alone knows what Mr Grey must think of me; or Christian as he's now asked me to call him - which is a whole other mindfuck.

Out of everything this evening, one fact is inescapable my darling, baby Emma. If the first hands around you can't be your daddy's – and who knows what Luke's going to make of this when I tell him – then Mr Grey's will make an acceptable substitute. You have no idea, lying there wrapped in your white blanket and your innocence just what it means to be touched by the hands of Mr Grey. But believe me several hundred women back at Grey House are now currently gnawing their fists in jealousy. Or they will be when they hear about it. After that there will be the inevitable next thought of _Huh…?_ _How was that possible? Where was the Doctor? Where was the Midwife or the Paramedic? Andrea…? _And they will look at me aghast for a moment. And then it will click._ You didn't? Say you didn't?_ Oh but I did! Scarlet panties off, legs akimbo and right into the hands of Mr Grey! There will be a pause, perhaps a blink or two and then a gasp. Then the uncontrollable laughing will start which will go on forever until they all fall off their swivel chairs, exhausted. It will follow me around for the rest of my life and I'll probably die from it in the end. But then, when they've crawled back onto their chairs and looked at me in that way women do when you've managed to achieve something truly _what-the-fuck-ish_, there will be a single thread of something that I will go down in GEH history for. Unmitigated embarrassing history may be, but history all the same: _Scarlet panties ripped off by Mr Grey? Damn it Andrea, two out of three ain't bad. Put it there girlfriend!_

But right now my darling baby girl you have no idea about the havoc he wreaks in our lives and how do I start to tell you about the wonderfulness that is Mr Grey? At the beginning I suppose.

I was the second assistant to Pharmacom's CEO Ted Gilbert when the word went around that Karen Carelli was leaving her job at GEH. Amongst the PA's of Seattle there are six jobs that you really want and PA to Christian Grey is one of them. To be honest it's _the_ _one_. If you're selected by Mr Grey to work for him then you have reached the pinnacle of the profession. It is the Marines of Office Management and in accepting the job, you understand two things: Firstly, that your life goes 'bye-bye'; so you can forget your friends, your family and any chance of holding together a relationship from now on. Secondly, that Mr Grey does not understand the concepts of 'I can't do it' or 'it does not exist.' You will do it, or get it for him, even if you have to invent the fucking thing yourself. And you will do it to his standards. You will never _ever_ dash off something in a rush and think 'that'll do,' because it won't. It will be thrown back at you with a look of pure ice, to be done again and again if necessary until it's absolutely perfect. And Mr Grey's perfect is perfection plus.

Working for Mr Grey is not a job, it's a life. You will be at his beck and call even if he's in London and it's 11am there and 3am in your apartment. If you survive working for Mr Grey then you are the gold standard of PA's and I've managed to hang on for six years. I am badass!

On the face of it, it's not an attractive job. You will work all the hours he needs you to, get up again and be in work for 7.00am looking immaculate. Lancôme foundation will be your lifesaver and you will be on first name terms with the counter assistants at Neiman Marcus by Christmas. You will certainly not be the most well-paid PA in Seattle, which is a bugger for the Louboutin bills. You will not have an office of your own, you will not travel the world in Mr Grey's private jet and you will not receive lavish gifts or get invited to parties in his apartment. He will not hang around your desk and crack jokes and he will not remember your birthday or make you coffee. You will address him only as Mr Grey or sir and you will remain unflinchingly professional at all times.

He's a man of steel. A polished, flawless man of steel who is ramrod straight, honed to perfection, and unflinching in every regard. He has his standards and you will meet them. He has his ways of working and you will adhere to them. You will not invent your own ways of doing things and glibly report them as better than his. The first intern we had did that and Marcie was demoted to the contracts department the very next day.

It was under these conditions that I spent the first two years working for Mr Grey, in a perpetual state of terror and sleep deprivation. Some people asked me why I stuck it out and the answer is very simple. It's because he's Mr Grey and you are working for Seattle's equivalent of a Greek god.

It's an inevitable state of affairs. Unless you are a lesbian or immune to the concept of male beauty, most every woman who starts work at Grey House acknowledges his god-like status. We have written it out as a set of guidelines and we hand it to every heterosexual woman who walks through the door.

_Welcome to Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. When you see Mr Grey your jaw will hit the floor. This is not optional, it will happen. You may also drool, so carry Kleenex. Please do not bore us with how gorgeous you think he is, we have exhausted the dictionary of adjectives to describe him. Please be advised that however much you flash your tits at him or swan about in six-inch stilettos he will not be interested in you. He will however, know your name which is freaky because you'll never have been introduced. It is normal to fantasize that you'll be the one to break through his polished exterior and that no man can possibly resist your impeccably worked-out ass. Trust us on this, he can. To the best of our knowledge no woman (or man) has ever managed it yet, but we'll sit back and watch you knock yourself out trying. The sooner you accept that Mr Grey will never yank up your skirt, rip off your scarlet panties and take you over the photocopier, will make it easier for you in the long run. _

_All of us, once we have stopped trying to seduce Mr Grey fall into a pathetic state of affairs which we have called Christian-ity; short for Christian Insanity. You know it's hopeless, but you still love him, will do anything for him and will adore him from afar until you're cold in your grave. Sadly, the photocopier thing never leaves your head and the Diet Coke advert is crap compared to Mr Grey walking through your office. You may wish to remain seated for that event and keep fresh underwear in your desk drawer at all times. He's so potent that possibly even looking in his eyes could get you pregnant, so it's best not to do that, because you know you'll drool and you'll be out of Kleenex._

_ And it's not just in looks that he's a cut above other men. He has manners that would outdo the British Royal Family. He flies his own helicopter, he sails boats, he gives money away left, right and centre and he does enormous amounts of humanitarian work in East Africa, which he will not allow you to mention outside GEH. He is an exceptional man and you will find that you start to measure other men against him. You will be left with a galling sense that compared to Mr Grey, you're currently dating swamp life. It is normal for your current boyfriend/husband to be discarded when you start working for GEH; but in time normal relationships with men are possible. But don't be surprised if the photocopier thing pops into your head during sex. And you may wish to actually join a church to explain away any verbal lapses during orgasm. _

_ It is well documented that those newly under his spell may become obsessed and start stalking him. Through the pooling of information over many years, our advice is this: forget it. The man doesn't go to any club that you can afford to join. He will not turn up in a bar one Friday night nor, by some chance, in your local supermarket. He has the Penthouse at Escala and there's a Starbucks down the street, just go there. If you're lucky you'll sometimes see him going in or leaving. Escala, not Starbucks - gods do not drink latte they drink freshly-ground Dutch coffee with a little skim milk. You will never see him with a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Andrea has worked with the man for two years and come to the conclusion that he's married to GEH and celibate. This is the greatest tragedy known to womankind which is why we will persist with the heels, the tight skirts and the perfect up-do's until the man finally cracks. _

And that was how it was until one day, four years ago, when Cassie paged up from the main desk to say that some frightmare was on her way up to Valhalla to interview him for the WSU student magazine. Cassie added that she was clearly a lesbian because she hadn't made an effort for Mr Grey. I thought she was gorgeous but a typically poor student, so didn't give her a second thought after I told her to go in; I just got on with my work. And then, little short of an hour later he cancelled his next meeting - just like that! And suddenly I'm doing my best goldfish impression at him and scrabbling around to tell everyone and there are no alternate time and venue details scheduled. They thought I was the one who'd fucked up because Mr Grey _never _did anything like that. Well he does now!

In the final analysis, when we looked at Anastasia Steele's tactics compared to our own, we had to admit that in our rush to bankrupt ourselves on Burberry to impress him, we had seriously underestimated the pulling power of WalMart. He likes it cheap? Fuck it we could have done cheap with bells on! Joanie introduced herself to Target that very afternoon.

But it wasn't cheap he wanted, it was Ana and she clearly had something that we didn't. The gossip was that she must have led the virgin Mr Grey astray and we had visions of poor Mr Grey begging for mercy at the feet of this vixen temptress. Whatever happened is irrelevant, because they're in love, you can see it and as somebody who worked with him when he didn't appear to know how to smile, it's sweet to see him looking up at one of the pictures he keeps of her on his wall and grinning as if he's the luckiest man alive.

And now, four years later, the Man of Steel has turned into the Man Who Goes to Mush at the sight of his kids. Of course, he's still a billionaire sex-god but now he comes bundled free with a killer smile, occasional singing and outbreaks of spontaneity. And the worst thing with him being married, a daddy and so damned happy all the time, is that we're all the more insanely in love with him! He's turned out to be not only a beautiful man on the outside, but a beautiful man on the inside too and that's powerfully addictive stuff let me tell you. In daylight and with a desk between you it's just about bearable. But in the dark in the back of his car when there's nothing between you but air, it's a lethal combination. And you may get talking to him, let your guard down and stupidly find yourself blurting out that you've been in love with him all the time you've worked for him!

So you think you've fucked up and that the next words out of his mouth will be 'you're fired.' But no, the bastard goes and compounds the whole fucking _in love with him_ problem by offering the holy grail of rewards. He asks you to call him Christian. That right _there_, is one notch down from the photocopier fantasy. And if he hadn't have asked me to call him Christian tonight would my baby girl even be here right now? I guess I'll never know.

This evening I walked from the car to my room arm in arm with Mr Grey. Mr _Pride and Prejudice_ Darcy can fuck right off. Actually, was that Colin Firth in the elevator with us? I completely blanked him.

"Goodnight, Mr Grey." I said, a little more at ease now that my faux pas did not have appeared to have spoiled heaven. I am perfectly content with one hand hold and an escort to my room from Mr Grey. I shall add that to Thursday's hug - _squee!_ and several innocent shoulder touches.

"Call me Christian, please." _What? Holy Fuck! This is up there with 'come to bed'._

"I… I… couldn't." _Too right. Mrs Grey would incinerate me._

"You can. Say it." He replies.

_Gaaah! His soft sexy voice. Oh god, he's going to make me say his name. Avert your eyes Parker, look at the floor, you can't get pregnant by him if you look at the floor. Can you get pregnant while you're pregnant? Oh god, here it comes, the verbal orgasm._

"Christian." _Meeble. I am radioactive with embarrassment. And possibly pregnant all over again. _

"Now to my face. The carpet's called Axminster." _Are you taking the piss out of me Mr Grey?_

I can't help it, I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. I love Luke more than anything but this man, Mr Grey… Christian, _meeble_ will always occupy a place in my heart. And then I don't hear it so much as feel it. A release, something gives within me and I stand there helpless as a puddle of dignity momentarily forms at my feet and then soaks into the Axminster.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Oh! Oh _no!_" I genuinely do not know what to do and in abject fear I stare helplessly at Mr Grey. He in turn places his hands on my upper arms.

"Don't worry." He says perfectly calmly and with such reassurance. "Your waters have broken."

"I know that, but the carpet!" I'm imagining having to pay the cleaning bill for it and now I'm trembling.

"It cleans up. Our bedroom one did. Come, give me your key." _Oh, of course, he's been through this twice before._ _Relax Parker, he's got experience at this childbirth thing._ I fumble in my purse and hand my card over to Mr Grey. He sticks it into the slot and opens the door. His hand on my shoulder guides me in through the door as I continue to leak fluid. Ugh, this is not a nice feeling. I need the bathroom, some clean underwear and a pad. Oh Luke, I wish you were here! I squelch my way over to the drawers in the bedroom and pull them open. My silk scarlet panties are right there on top daring me. I smirk at the irony. Should I? Shouldn't I? Oh come on Andrea. Mr Grey and scarlet panties at the same time, it's gotta be done, girl! After all, who's going to know? I grab them and a pad and go into the bathroom, kicking off my amniotic-fluid-soaked Vans sneakers. They're ruined and going in the trash. Finally dry and feeling a little more composed – although not too composed because my head is laughing itself silly with my audacity; I come back out of the bedroom. Mr Grey is sitting on the sofa and he's texting on his BlackBerry.

"After Taylor collects Mr and Mrs Sawyer I've asked him drive you back to the hospital. It's probably best that they have you in as soon as possible. I hope you're OK with the fact that your baby's going to be born in London. I can't let you fly home."

I nod. I feel strange. After the drama of a few minutes ago nothing more has happened and it feels almost as if I imagined it. "Will it be British?" I ask, suddenly concerned that I'll need to get a British passport to get my newborn baby back into the US.

"I don't think so; I think it will have just the one head." He deadpans and then grins and I roll my eyes. What is it with this new-found joking around he's doing?

I start to relax and then the remembrance of my abominable behaviour in the car comes crashing back in. "Oh fuck." I mutter under my breath and wish I could turn the clock back half an hour and stick parcel tape over my mouth.

"Are you in pain?"

I pace about and wish that I were anywhere else. "No. Just…" My shoulders sag. "Embarrassed. I shouldn't have said what I did. I have a bad case of foot in mouth disease." I am disconsolate.

Mr Grey plumps the cushions up on the sofa next to him. "Come, sit down."

I hesitantly sit down at a respectful distance from him.

"I'm not blind, Andrea, to the reaction that this face produces, but I'm immune to it in many ways. It's not attention that I've ever sought and I've largely tuned it out. But it's gratifying to hear that my workforce will do anything for me and I'll have to explore that with some charity fundraising." He grins and goes on. "I thought I enjoyed my work during the first eight years of running GEH, but since Ana's come along I _really_ have and that's because I have some fun with the people that I work with now. I'm hoping that a little less acting like the Master of the Universe and a little more time spent encouraging people might be a good way forward."

"I think so too. But don't be too nice."

His smile is breathtaking. "Are you feeling a little resentful that you had to put up with me being an asshole for so long?"

"You were never that, Mr Grey."

"I've asked you to call me Christian."

"I'm going to find that difficult." I say calmly and honestly.

"I would appreciate it if you would try. You, of all people deserve it. I don't know what your plans are in the long term, but if you ever need a job at any point in the future, you call me, OK? I'm serious."

"Thank you." I say quietly. I am truly touched.

"Obviously, I'd prefer that you take some maternity leave and come back as my PA, but I appreciate you saying that you can't give the job what it needs if you have a baby." He looks at me very seriously. "What would you say to Monday to Friday, nine to five? No weekends, no evenings, no 3am crap. Someone else can do that bit." There's a moment's silence. "Would you consider it?" He adds and the sad, soppy bit in me thinks there's a hint of pleading in his voice.

He's offered me the job of my dreams. God, how can I resist this man! "I'd love to." I smile. "But I really should talk about it with Luke, first."

"Absolutely. And if I can find some way of employing him on a more family-friendly basis, I'll offer him a job too. I really don't want to see him go either. A good man is hard to find."

"Or as I know, a hard man is good to find." _Another brain to mouth fail, Parker!_

Christian's mouth drops open in mock horror. "Miss Parker, that is utter filth!" He laughs. "You really are quite a revelation, you know that?"

"And so are you. You're lovely. Who knew?" _Oh god I'm drunk on the man._ I smile but he doesn't smile in return. All of a sudden his face shuts down and there is a bleakness about him that makes me want to reach out and comfort him.

"Yeah." He says, clearly unconvinced of his god-like status. He leans forward, resting his elbows and forearms on his thighs and picks at his right thumbnail nervously. He looks at me and it takes an age before he finally speaks again. "Before Ana arrived on the scene, did you ever think there was anything odd about me? I mean, odder than normal? Something, that didn't quite add up?"

I think about what he's said. "No. Not really." I reply. "But then again I wouldn't say that I knew you at all. You never gave anything of yourself away. This isn't the part where you tell me you're a serial killer, is it?"

He scoffs. "No. But I really wasn't a very nice person and it's preying on my mind these days. I'm wondering how to fix it."

"I don't think you can go back and fix the past. You just have to learn from your mistakes and make sure you don't repeat them."

"I won't repeat them, but I feel like I owe a lot of people an apology." He says very seriously.

"You don't need to apologise to me." There's a sudden intense discomfort in my abdomen as if someone is tightening a vice around me. "Oooh!" I moan as it grips me incredibly tightly.

Christian smiles. "Showtime Miss Parker, it's a contraction. Get used to it, you're going to have plenty more over the next few hours." He stands up. "We should put together a bag of things for you."

I struggle off the sofa and follow him into my bedroom. _He's in my bedroom, holy head fuck!_

I go to lift my carry-on bag up onto the bed to empty it out so I can use that and I suddenly double over, venting a noise that sounds like _'gggnnnnnnnn'_ as I'm seized by the uncontrollable urge to push my baby out.

Christian is instantly there. "Andrea!" He says as I slump into his arms.

"I wanna push!" I shriek. I have never been so shocked or frightened in my entire life.

"What? No! That's not yet!"

But it comes again and I can't ignore it. "I do, oh god I do! _Shit!"_ This is not how it's supposed to happen. Luke and I have read all the books, the pushing bit comes right at the end, surely? And things don't feel right between my legs, it's all starting to hurt, a lot!

Mr Grey is keying a short number into his phone and thank god he's instantly connected. "Ambulance please!"

I lean over the bed, gasping, but glad that the vice-like pain has eased now. Behind me Mr Grey is giving out the details of where we are and what's happening. I'm glad he's the one doing it because I have no idea where I am. London, that's as much as I know. Oh god! Oh no! It's starting again!

"Ohhh!" I cry out, I'm so scared! I don't know what's going on. Well obviously I know what's going on, but why is it happening like this? Why am I not having delicate little contractions like the books said I would? I start to cry, I just want Luke to be here. Surely this isn't going to happen? Not on top of everything else that's happened this week, please don't let me give birth in front of Mr Grey!

"The Ambulance is on its way. Come, let's get you onto the bed."

"Nooo!" I gripe. I'm confused, that would be so wrong. He's married.

"Andrea, come!" He stays more firmly. "They'll be here soon. Don't worry. It'll be fine." I take a step and it feels like I'm trying to walk holding a grapefruit inside me.

"I can feel the baby's head!" I wail.

"Oh shit! Excuse me for this." He picks me up.

"Nooooo!" I shriek as he walks round the bed with me, but my protestations are drowned out by another contraction that has me writhing. The pain is so intense. As he puts me down there's a horrible, deeply wrong feeling inside me. "It's coming out the wrong way!" I yell. I am at war with myself. On one hand I am trying to protect every shred of dignity I have left and not give birth in front of Mr Grey; but I know that I'm on a hiding to nothing and that this baby is coming out. And I don't want to do this, I don't want to open my legs, it's just so wrong! I'm scared, I'm crying, I'm sweating and I feel like I'm tearing apart both physically and emotionally.

He puts his face close to mine. "Andrea you have to do this. I know you don't want to, but we've got to take your panties off."

"Noo!"

"Andrea!"

_"Noooo!"_

"Andrea! Your baby can't get out!" He shouts in a tone of voice I have never heard him use before and it makes me quail.

"I don't want it to come out!" I howl. This is wrong on more levels than there are on the London Shard. My hysterical cry of _I want Luke_ is buried in another contraction that makes me screw up my face and bear down with an uncontrollable urge. I try to close my legs to stop the inevitable happening.

And suddenly there is the force of hands on my thighs, a snap and I look down to see that my skirt is up, my legs are wide apart and Mr Grey has a fist full of scarlet fabric in his hand. The gasp of horrified shock I take almost stops my heart.

"I'm sorry." He says and he does at least look as mortified as I feel. For a moment I cannot breathe and then my body reminds me that it is far too busy with other things to be concerned about all the lines that have just been crossed here. Mr Grey grabs my hands, pulls me up a little and stands, putting one knee on the bed in front of me. He laces his fingers into mine, so that I am braced against his hands. I can't think straight, my head has gone to planet childbirth and I've given up on my dignity. I guess that's finally left the building.

"OK," he says staring at me intently. I am panting and just about registering his words. "Next time, push against my hands." His words are no sooner out of his mouth before it comes again and my body does this amazing, unprompted thing, the sensation and the pain seem to start at my feet and move all the way in a rippling, fierce band through my entire body and right to my head. I go with the urge to push, grip his hands for all I'm worth, stare straight at him and probably go purple from the effort. He seems to be grimacing too. My pain overwhelms me, it's beyond intense and it burns like fucking Hades and then suddenly it stops and I'm panting.

"That's the head out." Mr Grey says encouragingly. _Where the fuck's he looking to see that! Oh my god just let me die now. _ He puts my hands together and I lace them both into the fingers of his left hand, and he uses his right hand to do god knows what _down there_. And then before I've even had a chance to collect a single thought, it's off again and this time it's even worse but then suddenly easier and I feel the baby smoothly exit my body. "Baby's out Andrea, good girl." He says. I let go of his hand and slump panting back onto the bed. I am in shock, too stunned to think about what's just happened. And then there's a little cry. Pathetically, I lift my head and Mr Grey looks at me with a smile as big as the sun. "It's a girl." He says with awed reverence and comes over, lifting me up and sitting behind me so I can lean back against him. "Sorry, I don't know if you have scissors, I've not cut the cord, you're still attached." I look down and I can't speak. She's just lying there between my legs in a big, dark, reddish stain, wriggling and gently turning from purple to pink. I reach for her as if compelled to. "Well done Andrea." I just about hear him say and feel a gentle press on the side of my head. Did Christian Grey just kiss me?

There's a knock at the suite door and Christian moves me into a more upright position before he darts away to return seconds later with two very tall green Paramedic angels. They are carrying large medical kits and are the most welcome sights I have ever seen. It's about that time that I give a momentary glance to the discarded red panties, clock my open legs, think about a photocopier and promptly pass out.

"Andrea?" A soft voice breaks my reverie. I look up and I see Ana Grey at the door. She's in a wheelchair. Her face is bruised and swollen and a complete mess down one side.

"I'm sorry it's so late, but I was awake and they said you'd just come up. May I come in and see her please?"

I nod and a nurse pushes Ana into my room. Her legs are all bandaged up and she's dressed in an identical hospital gown to me. The nurse brings her to my bed and Ana looks in on my gorgeous new baby girl. "Oh she's beautiful! Is she OK?"

I nod, suddenly a little overcome by what's happened tonight.

"And she's called Emma?"

"Yes. Emma May."

"And how much did she weigh?"

"Five pounds twelve ounces."

"And she's not in special care? She's a tough cookie, like her Daddy."

I nod and tears come. Ana reaches out to squeeze my hand.

"I know what happened." She says gently. "I know you're in shock."

"I'm sure Mr Grey is too."

"I know that he's asked you to call him Christian, so no more of the Mr Grey stuff, OK?"

"OK."

"And he isn't in shock, he's completely psyched, he's impossible and I've had to send him out for a run." She smiles. "He's unbearably happy and bouncing off the walls."

"What?" I'm confused.

"He adores children and he feels really privileged to have been there to help another one come into the world. He's wearing his battle scars with pride by the way."

"Battle scars?"

Ana smiles. "His hands are covered with cuts from your nails."

"Oh! That would explain why he looked in pain."

"He'll live. Although I have to warn you, he's going to feel some measure of responsibility for Emma. So my advice is don't argue with him about school fees. He pays for Sophie Taylor and he'll want to pay for Emma, as well."

"He doesn't need to."

"He'll want to, that's Christian. And it's easier to let him, because he'll just transfer the damn money into your bank account anyway." She grins. "And he tells me that he's offered you a revised job?"

"Yes. I don't know if that still stands though after tonight."

"It does. He really hopes you're going to say yes. And no pressure from me, but I think you already know why he's feeling the need to keep continuity around him."

I nod. I do. "Ros is leaving." I say. She'll be confirmed as the new CEO of Eagle Pacific Holdings shortly.

"Yes. And it's a huge deal for him."

"I want to stay."

"You need to talk to Luke about it."

I nod.

"But first you and I need to get some sleep, because you need to go and introduce Luke to his daughter tomorrow and I have to cope with Christian bouncing all over the place. And that's hard work if I've had less than six hours' sleep." She laughs.

"He's very odd at the moment."

"You mean the endless wisecracks?"

"Yes."

"I think he's going through a second childhood."

I grin at Ana. "I think so too."

"Christian didn't have the easiest start in life and as a child he was much too burdened by stuff to really enjoy it. I think Teddy is teaching his Daddy how to have fun. Which is fine, until Christian gets to the fart jokes and water bombs stage, which all boys reach eventually. At that point I'm shipping him back to his Mom. Anyone who has enough money to buy an airship doesn't need to be encouraged to convert it into the ultimate water bomb delivery system by his brother. Because you know that'll be where it ends up."

We both laugh. A man learning to have fun from a nearly-three-year-old sounds a good thing to be around. True, I'll possibly never be able to look Christian Grey in the eye ever again, I am now permanently scarlet and I will be the laughing stock of GEH. But I don't care, I still adore him, I'll still do anything for him, but I love him now in a deeply non-sexual way because the whole photocopier fantasy thing has left the building with my dignity.

In the pecking order of Seattle's PA's, I might slip from the woman with the most demanding job to the woman with the craziest job, but who cares? The man's seen everything I have and he still wants to employ me. You can't argue with that in life. If Luke's OK with it I'm pretty sure that I'll be back and I know that if I return, working for Christian Grey will be a whole new ball game.

Well Christian, you had better look out, because Andrea Parker, soon to be Sawyer is going to love her personal James Bond back to full health, stick her baby on her hip, deploy her best Miss Moneypenny and hit this one straight out of the ballpark. I've survived working for you for six years, I'm a mother now, I can cope with anything life throws at me and what's more? I can do it in fucking 5 inch Louboutins. Batter up!

**THE END**

**And thank you for reading!**


End file.
